Free Time and a Box of Crayons
by ByStarlight999
Summary: "Colors, like features, follow the changes of the emotions." - Pablo Picasso
1. Red, Blue, and Yellow Green

**So my muse is being honry. As in, she dyed her hair green and ran away to Sweden, so I'm trying to get her back so I can write all my stuff for my other story. Meanwhile, meet my other muse. This guy wrote every single one of my papers last year. At midnight. The day they were due. (He's also a little honry, but I'm training him.)**

**Basically, the theory behind this is that I randomly draw a crayon from a box, then write a drabble about it. Simple enough.**

**I apologize now for the last one- it's an awkward color, and I really don't like Newkirk, and I think that really came across too much in my writing. **

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**Enjoy!**

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_Red:_

It's everywhere. On his clothes, on his hands. It fills his vision, it's sticky, and no matter what is done to stop it, it keeps coming.

It's blood, but it isn't his. It's Dylan's.

Alek had just been trying to help. He couldn't just let the Germans kill these people. They didn't deserve it. Instead, he crashed his stormwalker, and now Dylan was laying in the snow, bleeding to death in the Swiss Alps, thousands of miles from home.

The boy coughs, spraying red into Alek's face.

He'd just been trying to help.

_Blue:_

It's amazing, the sky. It holds the air we breath, brings us live-giving rain, and opens portals through which we can view the heavens. Up in the sky, you can see new places, or get a different view on places you've know for a lifetime.

The sky also has the amazing ability to reflect. Alek gazes out at the pristine waters of the Pacific Ocean, which are the deepest, most vibrant blue he's ever seen.

He's reluctant to go back- back in the airship's gondola, back to land, back to Austria. He's reluctant to leave this blue, but he smiles, knowing this blue will never leave him. For the water and the sky are the exact shade of Deryn's eyes.

_Yellow Green:_

It's the beginning of fall, and it's starting to show, as the leaves are beginning to gain a yellowish tint. That is Newkirk's saving grace- if the trees in Japan turned purple in the fall, he might have just jumped off the barking ship, right there.

But they change colors like natural trees- like _British _trees. Which is just fine. Newkirk has had enough thrown out of whack ever since Mr. Sharp came on board, he doesn't need anything else, thank you very much.

As these thoughts slowly make their way through his head, Newkirk spots Dylan, probably on his way to do some business for the lady boffin. Mr. Sharp has been oddly quiet lately, and it's starting to bother Newkirk. He hopes Dylan isn't ill or anything- he's busy enough, and having to deal with the lady doctor would just set his teeth on edge.

Briefly- very briefly- Newkirk wonders if Dylan's silence has anything to do with that Clanker sod Alek's black eye. But the two of them are friends, aren't they? Why would one of them punch the other?

Newkirk shakes his head, then goes back to staring at the trees.


	2. Robin's Egg Blue and Red Orange

**Okay! Second set! I actually did some research on the first one- there's a note at the bottom, but you don't have to read it. **

******Enjoy!**

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_Robin's Egg Blue:_

"Da! Da! You'll never guess what I found!"

A five-year-old Deryn runs around her father, jumping excitedly. The dress her mother struggled her into that morning is ripped and covered in dirt, and her hair is filled with twigs and leaves. He laughs, scooping her up. "What did you find?"

She pouts a little. "You're supposed to guess."

He laughs again. "I thought you said I would never guess?"

Before he finishes his sentence, she bursts out, "I found a bird's nest! In the tree! Come see, come see!" She squirms out of his grasp and grabs his hand as she pulls him toward the door of the house. As they reach the tree, she points up.

"Look!"

Her father squints, looking up into the tree branches, and sure enough, there is a small bundle of twigs nestled in between two branches.

"It has eggs in it, too!" Deryn exclaims excitedly. "They're so small! And blue!"

"I hope you didn't break any," he teases.

"Of course not! Da, do you think the bird will come back?"

"If we're really quiet maybe," he answers.

His body cramps up from staying there, but it's the quietist he can ever remember her being, for that hour until the bird comes. And he's rewarded by the look of wonder on her face when the bird comes back. And days later, when the eggs hatch, and she watches the mother bird feed her young, it's back. And as the days turn to weeks, which turn into months, as the baby birds grow up, he's there with her then. Watching the wonder.

He's not surprised when they both realize her dreams of flying.

_Red Orange:_

She and her mother emerged from the shelter of their neighbor's basement, their temporary bomb shelter. Every building that had once stood proudly along the street was in ruins. Anything still standing was in flames, red-orange and bright against the murky gray-black of the sky.

Her mother gave a gasp, then let go of her hand as she ran towards where their house once stood. She wonders what could possibly be so important, as the building next to it is burning, threatening to topple at any moment.

Others call out to her, warning her away as she races after her mother. She ignores them. She trusts that her mother wouldn't go if she didn't think she'd make it out alive. The survival instinct, woman's intuition- whatever you want to call it.

Standing in the ruins of her old house, it really hits her. She can still see where their bed had stood, the bottom of the frame mostly intact. She picks up one of her old toys- unfortunately, none of the books survived the bombing.

Her mother heads straight for the one corner of the house that is still surprisingly intact- just a small section of brick, a corner. There are still cobwebs hanging. Her mother pulls loose a brick, taking out some papers. She comes up behind her mother and looks at them. They're slightly charred, but one appears to be a letter, and another a newspaper article, neither of which she bothers reading. No, it's the last paper that catches her attention.

It's a picture, faded, worn, and watermarked. It's a picture of two boys; one is tall, thin, and blonde, and looks vaguely familiar, while the other is just barely shorter, with darker hair. They're both grinning, but they look nervous at the same time.

Before she can get a closer look, her mother sticks the papers into her jacket, grabs a hold of her hand, and leads her back to where everyone else is gathering in the streets.

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**Note on Robin's Egg Blue: When I checked to see even if they _had_ robins in England (they do), I learned that European Robins don't lay blue eggs. That's something only American Robins do. However, there have been American Robins in England, so let's just say this is one of those cases, shall we? ;)**

**Another note: I'm really trying to make at least one story with each post from the point of view of someone other than Deryn and Alek. Both of these are. Point for me! :)**


	3. Purple Flowers and Grey

**Today is my birthday, and you get another set of drabbles! It's a celebration! *blows noisemaker* Party hats for everyone!**

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**So there is a funny story behind the first one. Do you want to know? Too bad, you're hearing it anyway.**

**In preparing to write this chapter, I drew out three crayons. And would you believe it, each of them was a different purple wildflower. *facepalm* So, because I can't/don't want to write, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to sit through, _three _drabbles about purple flowers (*headdesk*) in a row, I combined them into one.**

**I'm also going to warn you that it might be a while until I post here again- I'm hung up on magenta. (Of course, if you have any ideas, feel free to tell me. I'm stumped.)**

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**Enjoy!**

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_Blue Violet/Wisteria/Lavender:_

Beauty is one of the most unpredictable things in the world, simply because it comes in so many forms. One of those forms, she realizes now, is joy. Especially the joy of being alive.

They are sailing over the last fringes of the United States, and the ground below is filled with the purple of late wildflower blooms. The crew morale is exceptionally high, and considering the events of the past few days, she isn't surprised. They managed to survive a horrible attack, the worst the _Leviathan _has had to cope with yet, relatively unscathed, and everyone on the ship deserves this peace, this happiness, this beauty.

Her eyes are drawn to the pair making their way across the corridor. The girl is walking, gingerly, slowly, and the boy sticks with her pace. He catches her when she stumbles. She swears at him, and shrugs him off, but there is a faint blush in her cheeks, and her eyes sparkle. She looks alive, like she wasn't unconscious for almost three days, like she didn't nearly loose a limb, or her life. She looks happy. She looks beautiful.

They both do, the boy and the girl. There is but one piece missing to their complicated puzzle- the loris is absent from both shoulders. A small hole in the grand scheme, but a big one on the small scale, and it shows. But other than that, all the pieces have fallen perfectly- beautifully- into place.

And Dr. Nora Darwin Barlow, for one, is thrilled.

_Grey:_

Most people think that there are two sides, Alek realizes. You have to be one side or the other. With them, or against them. White or Black. They all but forget about grey.

Grey isn't one or the other. It's a mixture, a blend. You may think that this makes it week, but the fusion is exactly what makes it strong.

Sure, there are various shades of grey. The Darwinist's Monkey Luddites, for example. But are really just shades. They aren't true grey. Grey like the _Leviathan._ Grey like what himself and Deryn have become.

Grey is peace.


	4. Magenta and Silver

**Wow. It feels like it has been forever since I've updated. But I'm back, and with new stories too! Sorry they're a little short.**

**Both of these stories have some sort of deeper-ish meaning to them, which is explained at the end, but you don't have to read it.**

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**Enjoy!**

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_Magenta:_

Jaspert could tell already that they had come too late. The ground was littered with bodies, with everyone either dead or dying, and the Clankers long gone. This was the ugly side of the war, the side that Jaspert truly hated with every fiber of his being. Unfortunately, it was more and more quickly becoming the only side of the war.

He quickly searches for those men who are still alive, so they can take them aboard for treatment. There aren't many. His boots splash in blood mixed with sewage and rain water.

He was just glad Deryn wasn't in this, even though he didn't know exactly what she was up to. He'd heard about the _Leviathan_, and the trouble in Constantinople*, through the newspaper- he knew exactly as much as anyone on the street did.

But it had to be better than this.

_Silver:_

He sees her standing there. He watches her, laughing and talking with people about her adventures, all the things she's done.

She doesn't know he's there. If she did, she would probably leave. She made it clear she never wanted to see him again.

"It's for the best," she had whispered.

"Best for who?" he had demanded.

God, she was so beautiful. Why had he ever thought otherwise? Why had he let her go?

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. He hadn't come to reminisce. He'd come to change her mind. Stealing himself, he walks slowly towards her. She finishes her story, the small group clustered around her laughing appreciatively as the leave her side. As they walk away, she leans against the table, looking exhausted and worn out.

He approaches her from behind, placing a hand on her shoulder. She spins around, shock, anger, sadness, and confusion playing on her face. He takes a deep breath.

"We need to talk," he says.

She hesitates, torn, then slowly shakes her head and walks away.

She doesn't look back.

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**_Magenta: _Basically, this one came from the actual orgins of the color. In the late 1800's, there was a big battle outside of Magenta, Italy, and the ground had litteraly turned this reddish-purple color because there was so much bloodshed.**

_**Silver**_**: This is like one of those Ipod drabbles (but with only one song) for "Lazy Eye" by the Silversun Pickups. (Do you see what I did there?)**

***Yes, I know it's Istanbul (*sings* Istanbul was Constantinople, now it's Istanbul not Constantinople...), but most people in Britain were calling it Constantinople- it was called that on their maps, and I doubt the journalists would have really cared.**


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